


Forget Me Not

by Blackwell_Writes



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bad au, Geraskier, Grief/Mourning, Post Rare Species, the witcher s1e6 rare species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwell_Writes/pseuds/Blackwell_Writes
Summary: And in years to come you’ll wanderTo the place up on our hillAnd then you’ll cry to our painted sky‘I loved her then, I love her still’.And you’ll strew some sage and lilies ,And roses where I rotOf all the flowers you picked,I knew you would forgetForget-me-nots.- The Amazing Devils, "Elsa's Song"
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to Elsa's Song on repeat the idea of Geralt never getting the chance to apologize, never getting the chance to realize his feelings for Jaskier until it was all too late popped into my head. I wanted to keep this short, and painful. Hope you enjoy ;)

"Damn it, Jaskier!" The words echoed in Geralts mind just as they had echoed on that mountainside. "If life could give me one blessing," It had been years, and still the words, his own words, stung fresh and sharp in his mind. He didn't know... He didn't know so many things back then. He didn't know how much Ciri would mean to him. How much he and Yennefer would still be entangled. How much... he would miss his bard.  


The road was silent without Jaskier. Even with Ciri chattering away and asking him questions, the road had always felt empty and silent. The songs he had written were still sung, but imitations of Jaskiers art... that was truely a pie with no filling. It was infuriating. He had wanted so badly to be rid of Jaskier, to never be dragged into anything because of him again. And now that he wasn't around life had lost the little shine it had gained the last few decades.  


Ciri was nearly 16 when Geralt heard the news. Heard what had happened on that mountain. He had gone down the long way, keeping far away from the others and... him. It was purposeful, let him brood and steam and keep to the venom he had spat. Yen joined them on the trek back to the mountain. It was a painful place for them both, in one way or another. The two women kept sharing knowing looks behind Geralts back. He tried to ignore it. To ignore the ache that grew in his chest with every day of the journey. It was a strange feeling, a tightness around the heart that threatened to strangle him from inside.  


By the time they found the place, the tightness was unbearable, even for a Witcher. A pile of rocks, neatly stacked a foot or so high, and six feet long. A weather damaged and beaten lute stood at one end. Even with the paint sun-faded and peeling, it was the most colorful thing in the desolate landscape.  


Yen and Ciri stood back, letting Geralt approach alone. As he stepped toward the rocks, the tightness grew and grew, forcing him to his knees at the feet of what was once his...friend. His bard. His...  


"Jaskier..." his voice cracked on the name. And as he said it, the tightness released him, and tears came to his eyes. Geralt cried. His hands shook as he cried and stared at the grave before him. "...It would be to take you off my hands." The last thing he had said to Jaskier. The last thing he would ever say to his bard. And life, destiny, whatever you want to call it, it had listened. The one time he didn't actually want it, and it had listened.  


Yennefer had never seen him cry, and Ciri had never seen him mourn. Cry yes, once when Roach was sick, but never mourn. And even that had been just a few tears of worry. They watched him, for a moment, and once his shoulders shook, Ciri rushed to his side. She slid down beside him, small rocks biting at her knees, and hugged him. Yen came silently behind him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.  


"You loved him, didn't you?" Ciri asked after a moment, her voice barely more than a whisper.  


Geralt nodded, "I...didn't know. Not until-"  


"Just now," Yennefer finished.  


He nodded, "I think...I still do."  


Without saying anything else, Yen summoned some flowers - lilies and roses - and placed them down on the rocks. They stayed there a while, in silence, until it was too dark to risk being in the open as they were. As they walked away from the grave, Geralt said "I...I wish I could remember his favorite flower."


End file.
